


Fool Hearted Memory

by XtaticPearl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake Character Death, False Identity, Family Dynamics, M/M, Memory Alteration, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Survivor Guilt, Team Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/pseuds/XtaticPearl
Summary: When Iron Man was declared dead in an explosion at Stamford during an attempted intervention between supervillain Nitro and a bunch of young Avenger recruits, the need for more superheroes was felt and the Secret Avengers were called in for a compromise. A couple of years and more of missions later, they get stranded mid-mission in a small town in Stowe and run into someone who looks shockingly familiar. They come to learn that Tony never died and had deleted his memories to stave off a bigger threat from political forces trying to target a large scale superhero base using his knowledge of their identities. Now living as the mechanic Greg with Harley, who had helped him get away from his old identity, and Harley’s sister Evey as their dad, he might not be the man that the Avengers thought they knew. A journey of found families, karaoke nights, pining lovers, forgotten friends, and mending fences follows as the Avengers learn to live in the moment again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiernaSerea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiernaSerea/gifts).



The '85 Buick was a classic mistress and the owner of _Peachy_ _Keen Garage_ stared at the hatchet job Tim Jones had made out of the engine when the man apparently tried to 'renovate'.

"This," the mechanic said as he wiped his hands off grease, "is murder. Automotive murder."

"The murder of the highest degree?" Evey asked, the bandana covering her hair slipping down a little, "Innocent oil shed?!"

"Call the sheriff, darling," the mechanic nodded gravely and Evey petted the hood of the car with a sad face.

"Why do I ever come to you?" Tim Jones groused, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the wall, getting white dust onto his jumpsuit, "Listen, you're doing it or not? Give me a straight answer and stop wastin' my time, both of ya."

Evey twisted the engine block stethoscope hanging around her neck and gave the mechanic a considering look that he returned. The merlot shade of the M47 coupe had faded over time but the mechanic knew that old Tim gave it a shine regularly, preserving the gift from his dead brother with grudging love. The sentiment to cars was a familiar emotion in the mechanic's bones and he empathized with Tim. Families and automobiles were the only things worth loving for, according to him, and he watched as Tim Jones tried to hide his worry over losing his prized car's legacy. 

"If you try to experiment with the engine again, I'm taking this beauty from you," the mechanic informs with narrowed eyes at Tim before relaxing with a sigh and a nod, "Yeah, I'll do it. But I'm  _not_ going to rush it, you're _not_ allowed to come nag at me every day till I'm finished and you're going to suck up your pride and come home to ask Nora out on a date again."

Tim squawked, his fading red mustache twitching slightly, and Evey rolled her eyes at him.

"Take the deal, Mr. Jones," she advised, drumming her fingers over the car's side lightly, "When Grandma gets cranky, this one gets nagged and when  _he_ gets nagged,  _we_ get tuna sandwiches. C'mon, take one for the team."

"I ain't your team, little missy," the ex-Navy veteran informed Evey imperiously but the nine-year-old simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

"Take it or leave it, Tim," the mechanic offered, a grin on his lips, throwing a wink at Evey, "I know that Nora makes excellent sausage pie when she's impressed."

"The woman's your mother-in-law, for Chrissakes," Tim shook his head even as Evey snorted through her stifled laughter.

"And I prefer my mother-in-law happy instead of grumpy when I get back home, so tough luck, buddy," the mechanic shrugged unapologetically, hiding a smile at the blush Tim tried to mask. 

"Whatever," the grouchy tall man muttered and tossed the mechanic the car's keys, "Get on with your work now."

"Don't call grandma fat this time, Mr. Jones" Evey called out, laughter evident in her voice as Tim walked out of the garage and he yelled back.

"Send your kid to school, Keener!" he yelled over his shoulder, "She's a darn menace!"

Evey opened the car door and got into the car, honking loud in reply to the comment. The mechanic winced but rolled his eyes and got to work. 

The garage was as much comfort to him as the inn that doubled over as their home. It was a 10-minute drive from the inn and fell between the inn and the kids' school. It pinched a little on the pocket to have the place on rent but he knew that the benefits were compensation enough. His jumpsuit stretched as he leaned over to inspect the engine again, mentally cursing at the state of it and planning for an entire rebuild. A slick of grease-stained the elbow of his jumpsuit and he grimaced a bit, knowing that his landlady and mother-in-law would give him the  _look_ over his laundry's state again. Eleanor 'Nora' Braden was every bit of a whip-smart businesswoman and he knew that the inn was a tough spot to manage, especially with them living there in the east wing of it, but Nora hadn't aged 80 strong years without learning things. For all that they bickered and teased each other, fondness and exasperation lacing every argument, he and Nora were each other's support system ever since he could remember. Especially after the accident, that had -

"Hey!"

He didn't startle but it was a close thing and he huffed before looking around the popped hood to see Evey frowning at him from inside the car. Her hair was messed up like she had tried to fit her head into something and it had pulled her hair all over the place. 

"I'm trying to work here, Motorhead," he called out but Evey imperiously pointed at her wrist, where she still wore a terribly tacky pink Dora watch that he knew _he_ had never bought her. 

"You said lunch at 1," Evey shot back, "It's 1 pm. 1:05 if you want to get technical."

"I don't want to get technical, thank you," he snorted but nodded and popped close the hood, knowing that he would need more time and a better arrangement to start work on this, "What I  _do_ want is for you to get out of the car, please. You look like an electrocuted doll with your hair's condition right now. What were you even doing?"

"Says the man with a buzz cut so close that there is only salt, no pepper," the nine-year-old sniffed imperiously so well that the mechanic grinned at her expression, walking around and getting into the car to join her.

"Hi," he said as he settled down and Evey wrinkled her nose.

"Hi," she showed him her watch, "Can we go now? I'm starving."

"Well, I can't afford Child Services to come banging on my door, so no starving children is a good thing I suppose," he commented and bit back a smile at her epic eye-roll, "Got any ideas about how you're gonna explain things to grandma?"

"You're the adult, I'm the child," Evey shrugged and wasn't phased by the raised eyebrow she got, "All explaining shall be done by you, Mr. Mechanic."

"I'm so glad that you've always got my back, Evelyn, really, I'm touched," he said deadpanned before lightly nudging her shoulder with his own, "Seriously, you got any specific awesome excuse I can use? The truth, maybe? The truth would help save us the time of making up a believable story, just saying."

"I was bored?" she offered and he didn't budge but waited patiently as she sighed dramatically before flopping back against the car's seat, "Why does it matter? It's just one day. It's not like I bunk school every week."

He knew that; it was one of the few sure things he knew about both the kids. Both of them loved school, even if Harley pretended to dislike it a little during soccer try-outs and even more during the days when they had those new college counseling attempts. He knew that Harley was smart enough to get into most places but his teachers were confident that he'd get into MIT if he tried. The only problem was that Harley hated MIT. Hated it as much as Evey hated fireworks, which was a huge amount from experience. Evelyn wasn't as much of an academics chaser as Harley but she scored easy and well enough to keep herself in the good books of teachers. Her real talent and love came out in sports though, and he had played ball with her every week with a growing confirmation that she would land herself a good sporting target someday. Her gym coach knew the same too. 

"You're in fourth grade, Motorhead, I think bunking school every week hasn't entered your age schedule yet," he quipped and watched her bite back a grin, "C'mon, help me out here."

"Is this really necessary?" she sighed dramatically like he knew he himself did and felt a silly swell of irrational pride that she was his copy in some terms. Nora's death glares were flashing in his mind clearly. 

"Listen, you said you didn't want to go today and I let you take it," he breathed out on a pause and shrugged softly, "I know you don't do things without a reason and you're smart enough to know why school's important. I'm not going to lecture you on that and frankly, I trust you and I know that you'll tell me if things sucked."

"Eloquent, really," she interjected and he shot her a small mirthful but firm look.

"I'm not asking for your deepest darkest secrets here, squirt, because let's be real, you're the devil incarnate -"

"I can see the love so clearly, oh no," Evey commented in her driest voice but he could see her relaxing, the fondness showing in her eyes.

"- but you gotta give me  _something_ here," he finished and maintained as much calm as he could in his body language, letting her take her time before she spoke.

"There's a Mothers' Day event planned for today," she said finally and he understood, things falling into place with extreme clarity. He knew that both the kids were loved at home but this, this was something he couldn't give them. The absence of their mom wasn't tiptoed around in the family, and both Nora and he made sure to include her in their comments with varying frequencies to keep things open. It didn't mean that the kids didn't miss her though, and he could fix mechanic and cars but he couldn't fix some things. 

"Are you gonna be in trouble tomorrow for not going today?" he asked and she shrugged, small shoulders lifting and falling under the blue jacket she had worn out over the season. 

"Ms. Julie Ann probably will be glad," she admitted, a sheepish grin stealing over her face as she looked at him, "I kinda maybe threw a tantrum over the futility of hallmark events and holidays yesterday."

He chuckled and nodded, fully aware of how stubborn she could get when she threw a righteous tantrum. 

"Alright!" he slapped his hands on his thighs and straightened up, "Let's go get some lunch."

"Can we get some  _Sour Balls_ on the way?"

"Harley is gonna kill you," the mechanic laughed as he got out of the car and walked around to guide the grinning girl towards the family Chevy, "but yeah, let's get some candy."

He was starting up the ignition when Evey leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, dad," she said and settled back into her seat with a sly grin.

Greg Keener rolled his whiskey-brown eyes but couldn't stifle his own grin as he started the car to drive his daughter home.

"Buckle up"

-x-x-x-

"Have you considered, I don't know," Nick made a face, eyeing the mess in front of him, "giving the right files to the right person? Like this -" he pulled out a file and waved it in front of the agent, "-is for Hill, not me. Really, Fishburne?"

"Sorry, sir," the newly recruited agent fumbled a little but collected half of the files off the table before nodding at Nick, "I'll give these to Director Hill, sir."

"Quit nose-browning and get moving, agent," a new voice called out and Nick watched as his office's doors opened to let James Rhodes in, who was looking at the agent, "Go on, Maria is blowing a fuse out there."

The kid nodded nervously and hustled out of there, nearly dashing into the wall on his way out. Nick didn't roll his eye but shared a look with Rhodes, exhaling in exasperation.

"You know, you'd find it  _much_ easier if you'd just get the whole thing back to digital," Rhodes suggested, his prosthetic not making a single sound as he walked over and took a seat across Nick, "That's what reasonable people do, emphasis on  _reasonable_."

"You have your ways of screwing with SHIELD and I have mine," Nick quipped and pulled over the files placed on his table, placing them on a rack nearby before getting down to reading the first one, "After all, consultants have got to have some fun."

"You can't use the Tony Rule for everything," Rhodes snorted and Nick could still hear the buried wistfulness warring with an everpresent bitterness in the man's voice as he spoke about a ghost, "Carol said that it creeps the newbies out."

"The man had style, and the newbies could stand to learn something from it," Nick said unapologetically, glancing up at Rhodes for a second before getting back to his work, "You got a particular reason for the surprise visit, Colonel?"

"Rogers," Rhodes said and Nick paused, "And Wilson."

"May they have a blessed union," Nick said deadpanned but Rhodes didn't laugh or crack a smile. Nick knew Rhodes ever since he had put Tony Stark on his radar but he had come to know him as a person only after the Vanko debacle that had ended with some excruciating headaches for a lot of people but also an alive Iron Man. He had heard of Rhodes' double decade friendship with Tony Stark and even more about his dedicated service history. He had been the second and more logical choice for the Avengers, but logic rarely played out in history, as Nick knew from personal experience. Rhodes' inclusion as an Avenger came at the heels of the darkest time they had faced till then, and he knew that being known as the 'best friend of Iron Man' hadn't always helped, even if Rhodes never said that out loud. The Accords battle had been popularized as Team Cap vs Team Iron Man but Nick knew better. He knew the motivations behind every single Avenger's actions and understood that Rhodes was a better choice to lead the pro-Accords side. 

His understanding and suggestions had never come into play though, and Nick wondered if regret would ever help with thoughts about that whole mess. 

Now, two years and more after the Avengers disassembled, there was a team that worked. A team that still held cracks, deep and buried, but worked well enough under the UN's sight. 

Nick knew that it was almost not worth it to some people if they were to weight the result against the cause of the reunion. He wondered if Rhodes was one of those.

"What happened?" he asked and put the file down, giving the co-captain of the New Avengers his attention, hoping that his day wouldn't end in a migraine.

"You know what happened during the last mission," Rhodes paused and exhaled sharply, recollecting the squabbling the ex-Captain and current Captain America had gotten into over the mission in Fort Worth. It had been a strain to have Sam take over the shield even as Steve stayed on, with a call-sign of Commander Rogers now after discarding his vigilante Nomad status. While Sam and Steve were undeniably close friends, even the best in conditions, the change hadn't done either of them any good in their friendship. Steve had changed to a darker shade of outlook after the Accords battle, and Sam had taken the whole thing in his stride a little too much. The evasion of his personal loss and frustrations had put up some wedges. 

Steve after the Stamford incident, the entire backlash and emotional wringer of it, had never really gotten back to a high level of optimism. Sam hadn't understood the pressure and constant questions he would be under when he became Captain America while the original Captain worked alongside him. 

"I thought things were resolved?" Nick asked and Rhodes looked to be biting back a tired scoff but did roll his eyes a little. 

"Those were. We have new ones now," he informed, the Brass Rat on his hand skimming the table a little as he gestured, "Rogers wants to form a new team."

"That's -"

"Sam agrees"

Nick paused and Rhodes eyed him pointedly, both men knowing the significance of the issue on the same level. Even with the addition of Danvers and Lang, Hope Pym still holding her cards close to self, the team needed to play things safe. Nick still remembered the reason for it, and his mind flashed to the last time he had seen Tony Stark, meeting him in a safehouse with a gun tucked safely in his jacket and another on his belt. The world hadn't been ready to know his being alive then and Tony had accepted that, but Nick always believed in being careful. Something Tony had agreed with when he had disclosed his suspicions of an upcoming alien invasion in the foreseeable future. 

_"It'll need all hands on deck, Nick," Tony admitted quietly, not a defeat but a rational conclusion, "Strange said that Thor expressed his doubts about this - purple guy, whoever he is - being alone in his conquest. He'll bring an army. We'll need our own too."_

_"I thought you'd find this a perfect chance to create a new team," Nick observed and Tony grinned, small and bitter but accepting of the thought's presence._

_"I'm not saying that we need to bring back the fugitives now," the genius billionaire dismissed, eyes minutely cold but still masking a real doubt, "The Accords are still being smoothed over in places for the meta-human clauses and the Inhumans won't give in easy. It's a battle of its own."_

_"What're you planning, Tony?" Nick asked after a moment's pause and Tony shrugged, too easy and too casual under the vibrating stress his body fought to control._

_"Not sure yet, things are still - abstract. Some new alien-buster suit maybe," Tony said and looked Nick in the eye, "But I do know that my plans won't save the world without the right pieces in place. The world will need the Avengers, all of them, new and old, to bury the hatchet and work at that time."_

_"And what do you need me to do?"_

_"Be the gravedigger," Tony had grinned like a shark and Nick had known that he wouldn't be able to escape Tony Stark's new madness._

 

The battle against alien invaders hadn't come yet but they had lost something far more than anyone could attempt to replace. Nick had been waiting for the time when he would have to play gravedigger for people to bury their hatchets.

It seemed like the time had come.

"I'll see what I can do," Nick offered grudgingly, "but they're both grown ass men."

Rhodes simply nodded his thanks and ignored the second comment. Playing the UN liaison for the Avengers was a stressful job but Rhodes had experience of being a liaison with SI, and he took to the new role with considerable ease. 

"How's the training of the young lot coming?" Nick asked and Rhodes relaxed a bit, a small grin touching his lips.

"I'm pretty sure Kamala and Spider-Man are starting a cult of Avenger fans," he shook his head and Nick raised an eyebrow even as he grinned back a bit, "Riri Williams isn't willing to join the team yet, so we're still short on a flier's spot but Nova is learning fast."

"And Amadeus Cho?"

"Helen gives us the stink-eye whenever she visits, but her son doesn't seem to be interested in leaving yet," Rhodes shrugged a shoulder, "Though I'm pretty sure that he's going to piss Vision off one of these days. Despite Vision not being capable of feeling pissed."

Nick nodded and eyed the man sitting in front of him, loss and injury having affected but not stopped him. Rhodes had come a long way from the man he was after pulling out his best friend's armor from the burnt mess of the Stamford explosion, and Nick was glad about that, but he also knew that Rhodes had never fully come to terms with the whole thing. if Steve had repressed the loss of his best friend once, Rhodes had weaponized his, putting his heart and soul into getting back onto the field. Nick wasn't there the day Rhodes put on his armor for the first time since his own injury and his best friend's death, but Natasha had and she had refused to reveal much. Something that revealed a lot in itself. 

Suddenly it clicked in his mind and Nick felt bothered that he hadn't been more alert. 

"Got any plans for tomorrow?" he asked as casually as he could, knowing that coddling or sympathizing with the man would give him nothing.

"Not really," Rhodes replied and Nick pretended that he didn't hear the tightness of his voice, "Why? You offering?"

"I was thinking we could go out for a drink. Or stay in for it," he said and they both knew that this was the drink of the mourners. The grievers' poison and salvation. An attempt to avoid reality for just a few precious seconds on the death anniversary of the man who had meant family in a unique way to both of them.

Rhodes nodded once and Nick let it stay. 

"Where's the team now?" he asked instead of pursuing the same line of thought and Rhodes grinned a little.

"Somewhere over Stowe. The mission is almost over," he answered and Nick accepted it, letting Rhodes share his silence for a while.

He hoped the team handled their mission better than their grief.

-x-x-x-

The mission was the worst kind of contradiction and Clint was edgy with pent-up frustration and annoyance as he glanced around the site they were stranded in.

"How do we not have the comm-link?" he asked for the third time, shooting remains of the jet a dark look from the cliff's edge, "And why hasn't back-up contacted us yet?"

Natasha didn't sigh, too busy trying to catch a signal, but Bucky sighed and shot Clint a tired but pissy look from near her.

"Better question: who the hell taught you how to pilot anything?" he asked, shaking his head as he peered over the cliff to see the remains of the crashed jet, "The systems warned us of the drone strike, so why the hell did you not  _evade_?"

"My evading skills are the reason  _we're_ alive and the jet is the only thing that crashed," Clint shot back but before he could continue, Natasha stood up from her crouched spot.

"It's fried," she declared, holding up the reserve comm they had secured, "we're going to have to contact back-up through other means."

"Other means? Alright, Wanda," Clint pointed to the Scarlet Witch, who was tiredly tying up her wounded leg, "Skywrite HELP with your red lasers."

Sam rolled his eyes at the bickering and eyed Steve, who was the only one quiet among the wreckage. Steve was eyeing the surrounding and Sam could almost  _hear_ the plans going through his head; scanning locations and making contingencies, ready to command.

"You good?" he asked quietly and Steve didn't respond but then pointed in the direction away from the cliff side.

"The map had shown the city side in that direction," he said, eyes narrowed in focus, "We should send a recon team to try and find some means of communication."

"I know that," Sam said, hiding his exasperation as much as he could but going by the minute rigidity of Steve's shoulder he hadn't succeeded, "I just asked if  _you_ were - oh fine then."

Sam turned around to give out commands to the team and let Steve think through his muddle, too tired to play patient to a degree. They decided on two teams of pairs, Bucky and Natasha, and Steve and Clint, to go out and recon the place. Natasha's team was responsible for communication and Steve's was for resources. 

"Report back here," Sam reminded them, "and don't reveal yourselves if you don't need to."

The four of them pulled over their civilian clothes and set out to search for some help, leaving Sam, Scott and Wanda to keep watch.

Natasha and Bucky wandered around the streets, both trained spies and assassins with a good knowledge of subtlety ingrained in them. Bucky's arm still had the prosthetic cover and he had it wrapped around Natasha's waist to keep the appearance of a couple on their honeymoon. It always avoided nosy people, they both agreed. They were rounding into a street, crossing the road when somebody yelled and they turned around to see a young guy hitting the brakes hard on his cycle inches away from Natasha.

"Shit!" the bespectacled boy cursed, 15 or 16 in age by the looks, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking. You okay?"

Natasha smiled, her people-pleasing and charming grin falling into place. "We're fine, thank you," she said, keeping her voice calming and casual, "Are you okay?"

The boy nodded and looked up at Natasha, mouth open to reply when he froze, having caught a good look of her face only then. Natasha knew that she was recognizable to many but she was now blonde from the mission and wore unsuspecting clothes. It felt off for someone to recognize her so soon.

"Hey, you okay, buddy?" Bucky asked and Natasha observed the boy's eyes look fearful for a second before a mask fell over them, eerily familiar but also alien.

"Yeah, all fine," he answered and straightened his bike, "Thanks. I'll be on my way then."

"Do you know any place where we can get some phones?" she asked, some niggling sense of suspicion pushing at her mind and watched as the boy looked _nervous_ for some reason.

"Uh, yeah, a couple of blocks down," he evaded and settled onto his bike, "I'm sorry, I really gotta go. Bye!"

They watched the boy peddle away and Natasha felt like she was missing something big.

"Strange kid," Bucky commented and she hummed in agreement, ready to ignore the whole thing and continue walking when her eye caught the fallen wallet and a plastic cover of some electrical parts, clearly having fallen when the boy had almost stumbled off his bike.

She picked them up and dusted the wallet, eyeing the cover with curiosity before opening the wallet to find a name or address in case they could return it.

"Harley Keener," Bucky read over her shoulder and Natasha felt her bones freeze, a spark of recognition lighting in her brain from a couple of conversations she had had with a long gone friend about a kid, a genius kid in Tennessee, who had saved his life. She didn't know if this was the same kid, but the name was rare enough and the expression on the boy's face screamed familiarity of some sort.

"Nat," Bucky called out in a low tone and pointed at a picture in the wallet, pulling it out to see better, "Is that -?"

Natasha Romanov had always had a perfect vision, rivaling Hawk-eye to a large extent, and she prided herself on it, but she considered for a second that her eyes were deceiving her. It was impossible. It was  _absolutely_ impossible. They had seen the body. They had seen -  _him_. She remembered swallowing her tears during the private funeral.

But it was undeniable in the photograph. A closely buzz-cut and the presence of a full stubble instead of a goatee aside, the eyes were undeniable. The man in the photograph with two kids beside him and an older woman standing near the younger girl - the man was undeniably one person.

"Tony Stark," Natasha whispered and felt Bucky's body grow rigid for a second.

She didn't blame him. Not when she felt frozen herself. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely overwhelmed by the enthusiasm towards this fic! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

Nora Braden had a special corner for Hozier, something her family observed with hidden amusement and open exasperation, especially when her ringtone blared  _Take Me To Church_ at the highest volume through a minimum of 5 rings. The ladies at the community club at first thought that Nora had the meaning wrong and had considered it - well, more pious. After the first five retelling of her lady-love experiences from the past, one with a nun-to-be even, they had taken to politely coughing and awkwardly edging around her. It didn't hurt that she won poker easier with the players feeling uncomfortable after one or two sordid tales anyway. 

She eyed her phone on the counter as the young Irish singer worshipped his lover through her ringtone and considered letting it run for another round. The caller-id showed Harley and well, the boy could be made to wait a bit for not hanging out his clothes in the morning. 

"You, uh," the customer who had just given back his key gestured to her phone, looking a little red around his neck, "You gonna take that, Ms. Braden?". His girlfriend looked quiet, her neck wrapped in a scarf too dull for the rest of her wardrobe choice. Nora eyed the girl's dark circles for a passing glance before beaming in her most 'grandmother' smile at the young man.

"I think I'll wait till the lady makes her lover worship her well, son," she grinned, her voice sunny and calm as she handed him his receipt, "It does sound rude to not let them finish. Unsatisfaction is such a tragedy, wouldn't you say?"

She ignored the choked sound from the man and hummed a little as they left with shuffling steps, the girl stifling a grin at the redness of her boyfriend. Nora winked at the girl when she looked back before leaving and got a smile in return before the reception of the inn was empty again. The phone began ringing again and the ex-Army nurse rolled her eyes before picking it up.

"If you're on fire, jump into the water, sweetheart," she said casually as she picked up her grandson's call but paused when she heard him sounding out of breath, "Harley, what's -"

"Is he back home?" Greg demanded and Nora frowned, looking at the door for a moment. 

"Who? Greg, where are you?"

"Harley, is he back?" Greg asked again making Nora straighten up because there were only rare circumstances when he sounded this stressed.

"No," she said quickly and walked around the counter, going towards the back of the inn where their modified home was set, "Did something happen?"

Greg's breaths were coming in erratic bursts and she heard Evey talking to someone else in the background, but Nora's brain was already racing over the possibilities of the question.

"I passed by the grocer's two hours ago and Rick said that Harley had a minor accident with some car before rushing off on his cycle. He dropped his phone in the hurry," her 'son-in-law' said into the phone and Nora felt the age of her 81 years weigh on her head, a headache beginning to bloom. She also felt the planner in her sit awake. It wasn't the time to verify or fall into hysterics.

"Any other clue?" she asked and heard Evey say something to Greg.

"No, but," he paused and continued after a shuffle, "Apparently he looked terrified, according to Rick. And he said that some lady and her husband had come asking for Harley an hour back. Which lady? Does he have any classmates who's parents we need to know about? The only ones I know of _know where we live_."

Nora felt a sense of foreboding she couldn't ignore. She had known this day would come, even if her family had stayed cocooned in denial and the comfort of the present. She had gathered grit inch by inch, adding every reason to fight for this through the past two years she had lived with her disguised 'son-in-law'. She knew the risks, the play, and the threats of this but she was the woman who had missed her daughter's death and lived through it, who had lived through her husband and his partner's deaths but never let their memories turn bitter. 

She knew to fight and this was about fighting calmly.

"Greg, I want you to do exactly what I tell you," she said, walking towards the TV cabinet in the small hall and pulling open the small drawer, "And I want you to do it the way I tell you to do it too."

It was a testament to how desperate Greg was that he didn't question her and Nora pulled out her secret weapon from the drawer, staring at it for a minute as she explained her distraction to the man.

"Oh, and honey?" she added before he cut the call, "Don't make it easy."

"I've been looking for him for more than an hour," Greg said, tension thrumming high, "believe me, I won't make it easy."

She cut the call and took a deep breath before unwrapping the photograph album she had received from Stephen Strange when he had left an unconscious Tony Stark in her care as planned. She flipped it open and stared the manipulated memories of an entire life.

She was ready to face anyone who had come for them with her own arsenal. The stakes were personal after all.

It took half an hour before the bell rang for the inn's front door and Nora eyed the pieces she had placed around strategically one last time before she straightened her shirt, walking towards the door to greet the guests. 

She opened the door, ready to find the worst and blinked in paused surprise when she came face to face with a bearded brunet man with striking blue eyes, a shorter blond man shadowing behind him.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but are you open?" the man asked, confidence clear in his voice as was a deeply buried wariness in his eyes, "We're looking for a place to rest for a while. The grocer told us that you would have some room?"

Nora Braden was prepared to meet the Black Widow and handle the situation that arose but this, this was a level of worse even she couldn't handle on the spot.

"Of course, gentlemen, come on in," she smiled a little and moved to let them in. The men nodded and the brunet looked at the blond for a moment, gesturing something, and the blond sighed a little before nodding.

"I'll just go get the rest of them then," he said and left, shooting Nora a nod before going to find the rest of their group.

Nora watched a tired looking Steve Rogers bid him goodbye before facing her with an awkward smile and hoped to hell that this was a nightmare they could actually wake up from. 

-x-x-x-

Harley sat on the curb, clutching his bag in one arm and a crumpled blue-black faded beanie in the other hand, hearing the car pull up even before he looked up. His  _May the (m x a) Be With You_ t-shirt had a hole near the hem and he had not made it better by worrying it for the past fifteen minutes but when he heard the familiar tires, he almost made the hole wider. 

"You're kidding me, right?" he heard the voice and sighed, shaking his head at the ground, "No, seriously, you're  _kidding_ me, right?"

"Dad -"

"You," Harley looked up in time to see Greg striding to him and looming over him, staring him down with sharp eyes, "You get into an accident -"

"Dad, come on, -"

"- drop your phone in the street," Greg continued and Harley could see Evey looking at them from near the car, eyes wary but shoulders pulled back in forced casualness.

"I didn't  _mean_ to -"

"- and are  _hurt_ ," Greg took a breath, visibly calming himself before he crouched to Harley's level, looking him dead in the eye, "You do  _any_ of these, any single one of these or you're in trouble, what do you do?"

Harley stayed silent, jaw locked in a stubborn line, fingers clenched into painful fists. His heart was racing, blood flowing fire in his veins, and he could easily imagine his gut churning ready to throw up with nerves. 

"Har?"

"I'm not a kid," the 17-year-old said, one last defense, trying to push down the anger and terror enough to sound nonchalant but the man in front of him stayed silent. 

"You're right, you're not," Greg said quietly, placing a hand on Harley's shoulder, the weight grounding and confident in its surety, "but you're _my_ kid. And I know you're better than a lot of adults, sometimes even me, when it comes to some situations". Harley felt the hand on his shoulder squeeze a little, familiar and family in its promise. "But," Greg continued, voice steeped in the silence just between them, "the thing with being smart is knowing when to let someone else help you, bud. To know that you'll always do better with someone having your back. And for us, Har, it's who we get back home to. You, me, grandma, and Evey. We're always going to be the team and it's our job to have each other's back."

"I screwed up," Harley said, the words tight in his throat because he couldn't tell the truth, the twisted thread of lies that held them together now, "I screwed up hard and - I - I don't know if I can fix it."

"Like I screwed up my math assignment?" Evey asked and Harley chuckled weakly, shaking his head even as Greg bit back a laugh.

"No, but I don't think anybody can compete with that," he quipped to his sister who made a face before coming closer and leaning against Greg's back, elbows on his shoulders.

"Then you're fine, you big drama llama," Evey scoffed and shrugged when Greg tilted his head back to shoot her a dry look, "What? His delayed puberty is making him emotional about stupid things, dad, clearly."

"Thank you, Evelyn, for that completely spotless observation and inference," Greg replied before looking back at an exasperated Harley with an eye roll, "Anyway, despite your sister's spectacular psychoanalysis -"

"You're welcome," Evey said with a smug cheer that had Greg pause and Harley shake his head while chuckling into his hands.

" _Anyway_ ," Greg continued with a bitten off grin, "the point is that it's okay if you screwed up. You can either fix it with a little extra effort or create something better, mini-me."

"I'm as tall as you," Harley reminded him wryly and Greg sniffed lightly, clearly not taking the fact as valid.

"Despite your clear lack of grasp that height doesn't equal awesome," Greg informed Harley imperiously, "you're still the smartest guy I know and that's coming from me."

"So humble, dad, I have tears," Evey patted his head and Harley looked to the sky in a silent plea for strength.

"But matter what," Greg said quietly, seriousness coming back with a calm now, "no matter how smart and capable you already are, the rule still applies. The one rule when you're in any kind of trouble. And what is that?"

Harley took a breath but Greg's eyes were holding his own and there was the residue of panic there but also complete confidence. Confidence in Harley. 

"You call," Harley said, repeating the rule of their home, "If you're in trouble, you call."

"Exactly"

"I dropped my phone," Harley said with a wry grin, the fear and anger fading into something manageable as he breathed out, "So a case can be made for me not calling because of valid reasons."

"I'm sorry, did public phones die out of existence suddenly?" Greg raised an eyebrow but Harley simply shrugged, a deep-rooted surety that he could handle this with ease settling into him.

"I might have also dropped my wallet."

"Might have" Greg echoed even as Evey made a slicing gesture against her throat.

"Might have," Harley nodded and Greg's lips twitched even as he sighed, messing up Harley's hair as he stood up.

"If anyone comes to the garage tomorrow with your wallet and I find interesting information in it, I hold the right to tease you about it till eternity," Greg held out a hand and pulled his son up, smirking at him with mild glee, "Do you have something interesting, Har? Secret pictures? A stolen formula of immortality? The new equation to an invisibility ray?"

"You belong in a museum, you weirdo," Harley informed Greg and ducked when the man tried to ruffle his hair again, "Can you get the bike? I think I need to fix the light and change the chain."

"It's your bike, you get it," Greg said with mock-offense but Harley was already walking with Evey back to the car, showing her his 'cool scar' from the fall near the grocery store. Greg huffed theatrically but picked up the bike and brought it over to secure it to the boot. 

"Uh, dad?" Harley asked as they started the car to go back home, "I think I'd like my phone back?"

"Sure," Greg said as he caught his son's eye in the rearview mirror with a too-wide grin, "just as soon as you've talked to grandma first, of course."

Harley's answering groan was drowned out by the radio Evey put on with a laugh, but Harley was okay with it. He was ready to talk to anyone. Like Greg said, it was their job to watch each other's back. To stick together.

And he decided that there was no way anyone was going to take Greg away with an old name, a name they had pushed down before they began this family.

He might have screwed up, but Harley Keener was ready to fight back and fix things. The way a mechanic had once shown him, many years ago.

-x-x-x-

Steve felt naked without his gloves and consciously kept his hands unclenched as the innkeeper glanced at him for the fifteenth time in 20 minutes, not really bothering with subtlety as her attempts progressed.

The couch was a comfortable blend of rich purple accent cushions to a neutral almond base and Steve didn't get the quagmire effect of sinking in too deep while sitting on it. It was obviously chosen with someone who wanted people to appreciate comfort but also aesthetic, a balanced ratio achieved with a personal touch. His eyes flitted over the single painting resting on the wall behind the reception's counter, a spray paint rendition of Vogh's  _Starry Night._ It had an exuberance to it that warred with the dark sky's exploding starfall; as though the painter had wanted a dream painted across the cosmos instead of capturing the cosmos in a dream. 

"The control over colour needs work," Eleanor, the innkeeper, said as she caught Steve's gaze and looked at the painting with a small smile, "but her dad insisted that it was the greatest masterpiece, so, it wasn't really a discussion of decor."

"Painted by family?" Steve asked and watched the woman's smile turn softer, her eyes catching on the frame of the painting.

"My granddaughter," she nodded, an open pride passed with casual tenor, "Takes after her mother in that aspect, I suppose."

"They live here with you? Your family?" Steve asked, and Eleanor nodded, a small snort escaping her as she eyed Steve knowingly.

"Don't worry, they won't be a hassle to you"

"Oh, that's not -"

"Although, my son-in-law does defy my expectations and thwart guarantees sometimes," she rolled her eyes, keying in something on her computer, "He's a good egg, our Greg, but don't be surprised if you find him wearing my shoes just because his are too far away and he just _has to_ go check something right away."

Steve smiled as politely as he could, quietly wondering why Clint was taking so long to bring the others.

"Being a single parent can be a little outside the lifetime plan though, so he's actually pretty good," Eleanor continued and Steve knew she was going to elaborate even before she opened her mouth, "My Maura caught the HIV a few years after Evelyn was born. Evelyn, that's my younger grandkid. Anyway, Maura got into the wrong doctor's clinic once and a couple of months later, her bloodwork shows the virus."

Steve felt discomfort prickle at his skin at being an audience to a unasked story but also awareness of being part of a narrative now. He also felt like he was being watched by a predator as he sat in the comfortable reception sofa, having refused offers of something to drink or eat twice by now. 

"Did she -"

"Died, three years back," Eleanor shrugged, shoulders tight but voice casual, eyes on the monitor before she glanced at Steve, "It is what it is and it sucks, but she left me a family and I don't think I can regret that. The kids have a good dad, and we're fine now, so it worked out good by now."

"I'm sorry for your loss though," Steve said and she nodded before smiling a little at Steve.

"What about you?" she asked, a healthy curiosity echoing in her voice, and Steve felt himself clamming up involuntarily.

"You'll meet my team soon, ma'am," he replied, the short answer an irony and an indication of an inconvenient subject of discussion. Eleanor was a smart woman to her credit apparently and she caught on to it quick, letting the silence prevail as she continued working on her computer.

"You're not in some trouble though, right?" she asked after a minute and Steve looked at her to find her staring at him with piercing eyes, firm and challenging in a way, "Now, don't get me wrong but, your reputation precedes you usually, you know?"

"My reputation, ma'am?" Steve echoed, hoping that he wouldn't end up having a verbal spar with a kind old innkeeper. 

"Well, you lot are the Avengers, right? And don't the bad guys always come looking for you?" she asked with a one-shouldered shrug, "Now I don't mind a little bit of excitement myself but I've got a family and a neighborhood to consider too, don't I? What if someone comes up and they get involved?"

"We're just looking for a place to lay low for a while, ma'am," Steve replied tightly, "we have no intention of -"

"Oh, I know that, don't worry, Captain -"

"Commander"

"I - what?"

"It's Commander now, ma'am," Steve said and Eleanor took it in her stride, Steve's title playing little role in her mind.

"I just - could you do me a favour?"

Steve nodded and Eleanor took a printout of something from her printer, taking it in her hand before coming around the counter.

"This isn't me not trusting you, but," Eleanor said as she put the paper on the table in front of Steve, "consider this a caution for me and for my family. Nothing elaborate or strict."

"What's this?" Steve took the paper and read through it quietly.

"An insurance, if you will?" she replied, "I just want some visual and tangible proof of this place and its people not becoming intentional or unintentional collateral if any distress comes up. I've heard that your promises are as good as a contract which means this should be unnecessary. But I can't also not try to ensure my civilian family's safety."

Steve's first instinct was to convince Eleanor but he thought about his luck and the truth of her words. The paper was pretty simple, asking for an assurance that no property or person shall be intentionally harmed or used in a harmful situation. It should have been insulting but Steve thought about the lady's family, about the only home she had and the risk they were placing on them as it was.

Of all the documents and forms Steve Rogers had signed in his life, this was the one he did without much fight.

If he had known what it would lead to in the coming days, Eleanor Brand didn't think he would have actually signed anything.

She smiled with relief at the man when he handed her back the signed paper and knew that she had one front locked down.

-x-x-

Greg pulled up to the back garage of the inn and looked at his daughter who was munching on a bag of nuts he kept in the dash for sudden hunger. 

"Don't tell grandma about the school bunk?" he confirmed and she grinned sheepishly through a mouthful of unsalted peanuts.

"Can we tell her about Harley calling his Physics teacher a 'neolithic malfunctioning phallic specimen' first?" she asked and Greg choked back a bout of giggles because he had gotten a call from Mr. Turner about  _that_.

"I think she'd have a problem with the Neolithic part," he shrugged and stole a handful of nuts from Evey's bag, making a face when she made an indignant noise, "but it'd be fun to discuss fascinating biology over dinner tonight. So, sure."

"This is payback for him stealing your screwdriver last week, isn't it?" Harley asked as he hopped down out of the car and waited till Greg parked it to join them, "You bought chocolate milk on Sunday."

"Screwdrivers are sacred, Evelyn," Greg sniffed lightly and pushed him by the shoulders towards the door when he responded with an exaggerated eye roll, "Alright, smartypants, time for tuna sandwiches!"

"I hate you!" Evey groaned as she staggered into the home through the back door, Greg right on her heels humming smugly. He left the kids to wander in the partitioned hall and went straight to his room that had a sneak-in door to the underground workshop. Harley usually put up his Do Not Disturb taser sign when he was in his project mode, something that Greg had come to recognize as a show-off against his own shock-bolt web that was activated when he wanted some time tinkering. Shutting the room's door behind him, Greg peeled off his plaid shirt and hung it on the piano hook coat rack near the door before going to freshen up. The water was cold to the touch when he cupped it under the sink and he let the shock of the chill hit him as he splashed his face with it, the grease marks sitting stubbornly in slight streaks under the trickling water. 

The 53-year-old mechanic took a minute to stare at himself in the black-framed mirror after his face felt more alive, trying to recognize the salt-and-pepper stubbled father of two. The age showed in his skin but it didn't feel out of place, unwished or disastrous. The stubble looked a little unkempt but Greg wasn't really out to score dates and he knew that time had him beat at present, so he simply breathed out and pointed at his reflection.

"Quit whining, Keener," he ordered himself and pulled the towel off the rack to wipe his face as he came out of the bathroom, walking towards the small closet he had built with Harley the previous season. Pulling out a blue t-shirt from the top pile, he pulled it over his tank top and opened the door of the room, ready to get some sandwiches done.

He had just fixed his own sandwich and was teasing Harley about his tuna sandwich when they heard the intercom buzz, signaling the arrival of guests to the inn. Harley bit into his sandwich and turned away, making Greg frown at the lack of the usual complaints about the lack of mustard. 

"Har -"

"Dad!" Evey burst into the kitchen, her juice glass empty and clenched tight in her hand as she looked up at Greg with frantic eyes, "You gotta come. It's grandma."

"What happened?" Greg put his sandwich down and got off his chair, shooting Harley a look to check if he was following before rushing after Evey.

"There are a bunch of guests," Evey panted a bit as they rounded the corner, "and one of them looks like he's going to kill her."

Greg felt his gut coil and paused as they crossed the closet before the connecting door and pulled out a baseball bat from it, hefting it in his hands. On second thought, he grabbed the hockey stick too and tossed the other bat back, shutting the closet to move towards the connecting door.

There was a crashing sound and Greg wrenched open the door, shooting forward into the inn's hall with wild eyes, his gaze zeroing onto a blond man with a sheared-sides hairstyle who was glaring at Nora, probably inches away from pouncing on her.

"Hey, bird-brain!" he called out and advanced a step when everybody turned, the entire group of costumed people, "Get the hell away from her, right now, or I'm gonna bash your head in."

Greg expected the man to challenge him, throw a punch, do anything aggressive, but he whirled around to face Greg, he almost flinched and looked peculiar. His face fell and breath hitched with a horrible note, making Greg conscious about the situation.

He tightened his grip on the hockey stick and wondered if the man would fall over even without him raising the stick. Especially when he looked like Greg had shot him.

Or like he had seen a ghost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are fun and always encourage me to write more!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make writers write better!


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